Transfigured Hearts 8: Adorare
by MrsTater
Summary: An accident shows Remus that he isn't the only member of his romantic relationship with insecurity and selfdoubt. What can he say to bolster Tonks' confidence, even as his own is shaken by this startling revelation?


_This story follows **A Tonks By Any Other Name** in the **Transfigured Hearts** series, and is set during the autumn of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. As always, many thanks to my wonderful beta reader, **Godricgal**.  
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**Adorare**

_CRASH!_

Remus' suddenly pounding heart shocked him into motion. His eyes snapped open as he flipped onto his back, then sat bolt upright in bed. His left hand shot out to grab the wand from the bedside table, and in the same motion he flicked it to light the lamp and brandished it to the ready.

Only when his eyes began to sting from the abrupt shift between sleep and alertness, light to dark, did he feel the protest in the rest of his body. He had scarcely moved since moonset, when he'd collapsed into bed after the change from wolf back to wizard, which was just as excruciating as the man's body being contorted into the monster's; now every muscle, joint, and bone that had stretched, torn, dislocated, broken, shifted, re-formed, and knit-back together ached, burned, and throbbed in protest of his sudden, quick movements.

He was used to it.

In fact, he was used to much, _much_ worse. It was nothing that would keep him from doing what he'd woken to do.

Gritting his teeth against the pain and promptly forgetting about it, Remus scanned the once grand green and silver-hung former bedroom of Regulus Black. He trained his gaze on the shadows, scrutinised the dark corner beside the wardrobe, examining the drawn green draperies for the shape of some intruder concealed behind the velvet folds.

Holding his breath, his ears pricked for the slightest sound of another person's. Detecting nothing amiss, he almost wished for the acute wolf's hearing he'd been in possession of just a few hours ago, because hearing nothing, because _silence_, didn't make _sense_--

"Idiot," he muttered, screwing his eyes shut and clutching his thick hair between his fingers as his wand dropped onto the mattress beside him with a gentle rustle.

It made _perfect _sense that there was nothing amiss with his surroundings. Just before moonset, he'd locked himself in the bedroom and set every containment spell he knew on the doors and even the windows, unwilling to test the merely adequate brew of Wolfsbane Potion he'd managed to scrape the Galleons together for this month in Order Headquarters, nor to tempt the relatively tamed wolf with the lure of nearby human flesh and blood.

The crash had definitely come from _beyond_ the bedroom, and now that Remus' sluggish mind had caught up to his reflexes, he wondered why his impulses were so paranoid (though Alastor Moody would be proud of his constant vigilance) when crashes were a daily occurrence in number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Multiple times daily occurrences, even, what with a Hippogriff in residence, a heavy drinker with the penchant for smashing Firewhisky bottles once he'd emptied them, a petulant House-elf who incurred said drinker's wrath in the form of flying china, and one pink-haired witch's never-ending battle with a troll-foot umbrella stand.

Weariness tugged at his limbs and eyelids at the thought of so much activity likely occurring at this very moment not far outside his bedroom door, and though Remus much preferred to spend as little time as possible here where the ghosts of the House of Black dwelt in the newspaper clippings pasted so painstakingly to the green-papered walls, he put out the light, laid his wand on the nightstand, and gingerly snuggled down beneath the eiderdown once again.

He was just slipping away into quite a pleasant dream of leaping to catch Tonks' slim form as she caught her foot on the umbrella stand and flailed en route to the floor, when--

"WHERE THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, YOU MISERABLE LITTLE SH--"

Kreacher's sadistic, rattling cackle cut off the female voice that could only belong to one of the unacknowledged branches of the Black Family Tree: the very voice Remus had heard swearing like Mundungus Fletcher in his dream had startled him out of it. Not so much from the volume as from sheer surprise that it was Tonks, and not Sirius, bellowing rude names at the House-elf. She was always so kind to Kreacher, as she was to everyone, in the face of the venom he continually spewed at her. The House-elf must have done something truly foul to get a rise worthy of her cousin out of the much more forgiving Tonks.

Against his body's protests, instinct once again took command of Remus (though this time of the chivalrous variety, rather than the vigilant). Shoving back the duvet, he slid out of bed, less gingerly than he ought to have done because he reckoned babying oneself was hardly in order when Tonks was in the corridor in distress. He snatched his wand again, and without pausing to throw his dressing gown over his thin, faded blue cotton pyjamas, stepped into the frayed grey carpet slippers he'd abandoned at the door, called off the containment spells he'd placed on the room, and pushed the heavy, creaking door open just in time to see the leering House-elf tear down the stairs as Tonks -- sprawled on the steps, surrounded by broken crockery -- hurled a teacup after him.

"_Accio _teacup!" Remus said.

The Summoned object just grazed Kreacher's head before reversing its direction and flying to Remus, who hooked the serpentine handle on his pinky. Further catastrophe averted, he turned his attention to Tonks, his pulse racing as he noticed that, in the position she'd landed, she might have struck her head on the top step.

Heedless of the broken shards of china, Remus dropped to a crouch beside her and helped her to sit up a little. "Are you hurt?"

Gently as he could, he shifted her body so that the light from the gas lamp above washed over her. His eyes roved over every millimetre of her face, noting that her lips and already fair skin had gone deathly white, except for two red spots of rage on her high cheekbones. He threaded his fingers into her auburn bob, skimming her scalp for bumps.

"Bum hurts like hell, but I don't think I've broken my tailbone." Tonks sighed and let her head loll against his shoulder. "I'm sure I'll have the mother of all bruises..."

Remus _hmmed _in sympathy and rubbed beneath her shoulder blades where the edge of the step must have dug painfully into her back. "Probably, though _I'm _sure your bum will be as lovely as ever, even if it is marked by the mother of all bruises."

The isolated tinges of colour on Tonks' cheeks bled, reddening her entire face; Remus felt heat begin to prickle at his pyjama collar, as well. Merlin, had he just said what he thought he said? At least he wouldn't have to worry about Tonks asking to see him after full moon any time soon, now that she'd experienced firsthand just how long it took for him to regain normal human brain function.

But then he felt a quiver beneath his palm, and saw that Tonks' shoulders were shaking with laughter.

As she turned her amused face up to him, a thought flitted through his mind that he ought to feel self-conscious about his pyjamas, but immediately fled when he remembered he'd seen Tonks in _her _pyjamas, which included Pygmy Puff slippers, and thought her adorable. When he noted that her gaze on _his _pyjamas didn't contain an ounce of anything remotely resembling disapproval, he thought she might even be having similar thoughts about him now.

After all, even though Sirius would laugh his arse off if he were stood here now using Legilimency on him, Remus thought there must have been _something _attractive about him that would inspire Tonks say with no small amount of coquettishness, "Shall I drop my knickers so you can test that hypothesis?"

Rubbing his hand over his stubbly jaw as a number of entirely pleasing images vied for attention in his mind's eye, Remus again _hmmed_ in the attempt not to reveal just how much he liked that suggestion.

When he was reasonably sure he'd gained enough control over himself not to say...well, the sort of thing Sirius would say...or to say it in a way that made him sound like the inexperienced-yet-eager-to-be-otherwise adolescent he felt like in such heady moments of flirtation with Tonks, he asked, "Would that be salve for your damaged pride?"

"So long as you don't tell me purple makes my bum look peaky."

"Well, I'd be only too happy to rub a bit of bruise-healing paste onto it for you, to eliminate some of the peaky-by-contrast factor, but if it's any comfort, I'll let you in on a little secret."

"What's that, then?"

Remus made a show of looking all around to check that they were alone. He was a little surprised, actually, that the commotion had not attracted Sirius' attention, as he seemed to have a Trace on chaos and drama; though he _had _been sulky since Remus had locked him out last night and not let them revisit their Marauder days through Padfoot and Moony's Full Moon Adventures in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Then, tilting his head toward hers, so close that her hair tickled his cheek, he said in a hushed voice, "You're not the sole member of the P.E.A. Club."

Tonks' forehead crinkled for a moment in deep thought, then she raised an eyebrow. "Pasty English Arse Club?"

"That's the one."

Having expected Tonks to throw back her head and let out a laugh that broke the gloomy atmosphere of Grimmauld Place as surely as she'd broken the china, Remus found himself rather wrong-footed when Tonks merely chuckled quietly. The sound faded gradually along with her smile as she reverted her gaze to the staircase littered with shards of porcelain mingled with toast and baked beans and a couple paper packets of that Muggle instant hot cocoa mix; and, at the landing, a puddle of milk in which shattered glass caught the flickering lamplight and glistened. Her shoulders sagged with another deep sigh as she leant her elbows on her knees, resting heavily on them.

"What is it?" asked Remus, concern gripping him once again. Tonks was a self-reliant Auror and just self-conscious enough that Remus felt sure she was the type to play down her injuries in order to deflect negative attention. He rested his hand at the small of her back. "Are you sure you haven't wounded more than your pride?"

"I'm okay."

Though sceptical, Remus thought he understood her reluctance to draw more attention to herself and didn't pursue it. Instead he rubbed her back and said, "I should hope your pride's not feeling _quite _so raw, seeing as I've sacrificed my own dignity by divulging my P.E.A. Club membership."

She smiled a little, but didn't look at him, just as she hadn't looked at him when she spoke. Not that the two tersely-uttered two words allowed much time for looking. The two words _had_, however, spoken volumes to Remus about his success -- or rather, lack thereof -- at relieving her sore pride.

Hence his current hesitation.

He'd seen Tonks in various states of mortification about her clumsiness, but usually it passed after several abject apologies or a self-recriminating comment, after which she laughed the whole thing off. She was so frank about her clumsiness, Remus had been sure she accepted it as an inconvenient, but innocuous, flaw. He wasn't sure what to do now, with this onset of brooding quiet. Also there had been that uncharacteristic rage at Kreacher, as if he'd utterly wrecked the very best-laid of her plans.

Which, Remus' sluggish brain suddenly realised, must have involved bringing him tea.

Against all the assertions he'd made to her just before the previous full moon that he didn't need looking after, and flying in the face of all his attempts at hiding the toll the impending transformation took on him even the day before, Remus warmed inwardly at the thought that she'd been thinking of him. He lightly slid his hand up to her shoulder, squeezing it as he drew her more snugly against his side.

"I'm sorry the staircase got to enjoy the beans-on-toast instead of me," he began, "but--"

"Actually I think my robes are enjoying it even more," she cut him off, her body rigid, held away from him.

He looked down to find her staring ruefully down at her scarlet Auror robes, to which a good quarter of the tin of beans clung. Merlin -- she'd come directly here after work, and hadn't even taken the time to change.

Clearing his throat, Remus said, "I'm just glad you fared better than the Noble and Most Ancient China of Black."

"Tell Sirius that thanks to his second cousin, he's now short a teapot, saucer, creamer, sugar bowl, butter dish, and a plate."

"I saved a teacup, though Sirius won't thank me for it, while he most probably will send me out to buy _you_ a very expensive present as a token of his gratitude for breaking up his mother's wedding set."

"And you'll treat yourself to a very nice dinner while you're out, too, I expect," said Tonks with a snort, stiffening in his embrace, "to celebrate not having to eat my atrocious cooking."

"I'm sure your beans-on-toast's just--"

"You're all out of bread," she interrupted, her hands balling into fists on her lap, "because I bloody burnt it _all_--"

"There wasn't much bread left to begin with," said Remus. "Sirius--"

"Even the two pieces I managed not to completely turn to cinders I had to scrape black off of. And the first batch of beans I scorched all to the pot, and the pot's ruined now because my Scourgify went all funny, and this batch of beans has far too much butter in, but that was the last can of those, as well--"

"As I said, Sirius is a bottomless--"

"And while you're having dinner out, you'll probably want to take a room at the Leaky Cauldron to make up for all the sleep you didn't get whilst I was disregarding your wishes and turning up here wreaking havoc outside your bedroom." She struck her lap with her fists and chewed on her lower lip. "Why the bloody _hell_ didn't I just have Chinese owl-delivered?"

"Probably because you are a very clever witch and remembered that owls can't deliver to houses under Fidelius Charm," said Remus, at last managing to draw her gaze.

Though the way her eyes were slightly narrowed at him, as if she wasn't sure whether he was being snarky or sincere, almost made him rather she'd kept staring at her fisted hands. It pained him, worse than the dull throb in every inch of his recuperating body, that he might have done something in the past to cause this doubt in his sincerity now. His arm went slack around her and hung at his side.

"You went to a great deal of trouble for me," he said. "You didn't have to."

"I know I didn't have to," said Tonks, looking away again, her face white and pained. "I know you didn't want me to. I wasn't thinking about what you wanted. I was only thinking about what _I _wanted, and that was to do something girlfriendy."

Her rapid-fire words were dizzying, swirling around Remus as he remained stuck on the point where Tonks was accusing herself of being selfish. _Her?_ _Selfish_? It was ridiculous.

Even more ridiculously, he said, "_Girlfriendy_?"

Tonks sank into her elbows-on-knees position again, this time clutching her hair between her fingers as her forehead dropped onto her palms. Lines etched her pretty features, deep furrows tugging at the corners of her mouth. She looked every bit like a girl about to confess a sin for which she felt heartily sorry.

"I was a bit preoccupied at work today," she said, "wondering how you were, wishing I'd at least owled you, and my colleague Eileen noticed. I told her my boyfriend was a bit off-colour, and she asked if I was going to make you a Pepper-Up potion and even offered me her gran's secret chicken soup recipe, and it just got me to thinking that even girls who don't go out with werewolves look after their boyfriends when they're poorly, and I want to be a good girlfriend--"

"You are--"

"I thought the least I could do would be to set a tray of beans-on-toast outside your door so you wouldn't have to go downstairs and cook for yourself and deal with Kreacher, but then the little bugger booby-trapped the stairs, and let's face it, I'd probably have done this even without booby-traps, and I never should have gone against your wishes at all, because there wasn't a chance in hell I'd get this right because I'm all wrong for you!"

"All wrong for me?"

"Completely and utterly."

Dear Merlin...Did she _really_ think that?

More disturbingly: had _he _made her think that?

Surely not... Surely she knew that his reasons for asking her not to come were because _he _wasn't sure how to get it right, not that he thought she'd get it wrong.

Though obviously she didn't, as she was saying she was all wrong for him.

But he'd _meant _for her to see that the problem lay entirely with him, and hadn't a bloody thing to do with her. Now he looked at it like that, his logic seemed pretty...well, _illogical_. If he was worried about getting it wrong, but thought Tonks could get it right, why didn't he just let her be right? Not once since he'd awoken had he felt like an invalid, or like she was seeing him as anything less than a man who'd got laid up in bed with a malady. He hadn't even batted an eye at the idea of sitting on the steps chatting to her in his pyjamas. She wanted to bring him beans-on-toast and a glass of milk, for Merlin's sake, not give him a bloody sponge bath!

Though, in the right context, he supposed a sponge bath wouldn't be unappealing...

Oh God. He'd been living with Sirius for too long...

It was such a little thing, he thought, inwardly shaking himself back to the matter at hand; and yet denying Tonks the chance to show him that his turning into a monster the night before didn't her think less of him had made her feel like a bad girlfriend.

And it did him _good _to see her after a transformation; he couldn't imagine why he'd thought otherwise. She took him back to that long-ago morning when he'd emerged from the Whomping Willow, blinking and barely standing, to find James and Sirius and Peter waiting from him, and for the first time outside of his family, he felt what it meant to be a fellow member of the human race, to be a brother, to be _accepted_.

Turning toward her, his knees colliding with hers, Remus slipped one hand beneath her chin and turned her face toward him. She looked at him, her eyes rich with misery, then widening in something like surprise as he cupped her face in both palms, though he couldn't be sure if that was _precisely _how she was looking at him, because he'd closed the distance between them, twining his fingers into her hair, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that left her flushed and breathless when he drew back.

"I don't know what sort of witch you think would be right for me, Dora," he said, "but in case you haven't noticed, my best mate in the world is Sirius Black. I've hardly surrounded myself with people who I think will handle me with kid gloves, have I?"

Tonks gawped. "You...You called me..._Dora_."

Remus nearly laughed because it was so, so _her _to hear a speech but get hung up on the name he'd called her (unintentionally) at the very beginning, but he didn't. It was very important that she know he was being perfectly sincere.

"So I have," he said, scuffing her cheek with his thumb, touching his lips to hers again. "And I _adore _you."

When her lips did not immediately melt again into his, and when Remus felt her eyelashes brush his cheekbone, once, as she blinked, it occurred to him that his declaration had surprised her. For a moment, _he _faltered. Had he overstepped? Thought too little for once and said too much?

His pulse raced erratically, snatching his breath. Had he misread her reaction from the start? What if she hadn't been expressing insecurity so much as the realisation that this, _he_, wasn't what she wanted after all?

No sooner had the awful thought gripped his heart and made his fingers go slack, sliding away from her soft, warm skin, when her lips pressed hard against his and her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling herself deeper into the kiss, almost into his lap.

"Do you adore me even though I'm dead clumsy?" she asked, her voice a bit muffled because she barely withdrew her lips from his to spoke, and claimed them again as soon as the last word whispered against his mouth.

Remus let out a shuddering breath, relieved that his fear had not been realised and gladder than he'd imagined he would be to know she'd only been processing his words, was working through her own insecurities, which he was more determined than ever to put to rest.

So he kissed her again, a little more intently, tracing her high cheekbones with the pads of his fingers, eliciting a very soft, very pleased sound from her before releasing her lips to kiss the corner of her mouth, the tip of her nose, sweeping her fringe back and sitting up to kiss her forehead.

"I adore you _because _you're dead clumsy," he said, returning to her full, deeply coloured lips.

As they kissed, her slim fingers slid through his shaggy, uncombed hair, cool against his skin, and locked together at the base of his neck. Though she held herself firmly in place, as though settling in for a long kissing session, and indeed deepened the kiss and coaxed a low sound from _him_, she pulled back again to ask, "And even though I haven't got a domestic bone in my body?"

"I adore all the bones you have got -- the clever ones...the funny ones--"

"Oh, so it's my elbows that do it for you, then? Only I'd thought it was my pasty English arse--"

"Cheeky," he murmured, and slid one hand over her hip and around, beneath her, to pinch her backside. She squirmed on his lap, and he shuddered, a shiver racing up his spine. His voice lodged his throat, husky, and sounded far away as he said, "If I were interested in domesticity, I'd hire a cleaning witch. You know, if I had any money to pay one."

Tonks started to reply, but then her head was falling back as he dipped his head to kiss her neck, and if she did manage to speak Remus didn't hear it, because to him, the entire world seemed to have been consumed by the sensation of her pulse beating in the curve of her neck beneath his lips, and her fingernails raking over his scalp.

Perhaps because his thoughts were fixated somewhere close to the subject, his fuzzy brain did make out the word _hair_.

Reluctantly he dragged his mouth from her skin which was marked by a faint pink blotch, and asked, "What did you say?"

"I asked if you adore me even though I wear tatty jeans and t-shirts with the names of bands you hate and morph pig snouts at the dinner table and do daft things to my hair?"

"Yes, yes, and yes indeed," he told her, kissing her between each iteration for emphasis, the middle time on the tip of her cute nose. His hands held her just below her waist, and he gave her a squeeze. "All those things make you Nymphadora Tonks."

Her flushed and glowing features began to crinkle in distaste, and Remus knew what was coming. Though he normally enjoyed her feisty reaction to his favourite game of using her Christian name, today he found he wasn't in the mood for that sort of flirtation. No -- all this kissing had left him feeling considerably more amorous.

So, before the lady could protest, he said, "You know it's very fitting that _adore _is in your name, since that's how I feel about you."

Amorous as it had made him feel, all this kissing had _not_ made Remus immune to cheesiness. The instant the comment left his mouth and struck his ears, he winced.

Had he _really _just said what he thought he'd heard himself say?

No. He couldn't have. He would _never_--

Tonks snorted. Her eyes were scrunched into dark crescent moons of glee, and her lips could not have twisted into a more impish smirk if she actually _were _an imp.

He _had _made that incredibly wretched joke.

Remus' face burned, then his head drooped in shame, as if his mortification had manifested as a leaden weight in the space where a brain ought to have been.

But of course he and Tonks were situated in such close quarters, she still perched on his lap, that he couldn't hide from her. Or her laughter. Her shoulder jiggled his head as she laughed.

Heaving a sigh, Remus lifted his head to peer at her with one eye through a gap in his fringe. "I take it the only way you will ever let me live that one down will be if I Obliviate you?"

"Funny, I was just thinking I might have to do the same thing to you, lest you get any clever ideas about sending me Valentines that say, 'I Nymph-adore You'."

Laughing, Remus released her with one hand and placed it over his heart. "I solemnly swear."

Tonks stared levelly at him. "I know how much _that's_ worth."

She leant in to him as she spoke, clearly intending to kiss him again, but Remus held her back and said impulsively, "I'll stop being a prat about...the full moon."

Mouth agape, Tonks blinked several times in rapid succession. Remus nudged her chin with his index finger, and she closed her mouth -- but only for a second before her lips parted again and a flurry of words tumbled out.

"Really? I mean...Not that I think you've been a prat, exactly...just...I mean..." She bit her lower lip, darted her eyes up at him, went red, then blurted, "I can come?"

Though largely amused by how thoroughly he'd managed to flummox her, Remus himself was not so fully recovered from either kissing session or the recent full moon that he didn't find himself slightly befuddled by her garbled reply. And that he had, without plan or forethought, granted her entrance into a part of his life that had been so long closed off to anyone but himself, filled him with no small degree of panic.

True, the last time he had opened that door to others he had flourished, been blessed with happiness beyond imagination. In hindsight, though, he saw how tenuous, how fragile that happiness was; even Hermione Granger, a girl not yet of age, recognised how reckless he had been, how much might have been lost...Indeed, much _had _been lost because Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs had been deeply, irrevocably changed by what they had done for him.

Worst of all, while his mates had changed for him, even as Remus saw the ripple their course of action had exacted on the world around, even on the course of history, he himself had not changed. Not a whit. At thirty-four he'd confessed to Hermione that he was still susceptible to the very same insecurities and weaknesses he'd given in to at fourteen, and his actions that year as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor spoke far louder than those words. Two years later, the pattern of behaviour was rearing its head again with Tonks. Not that he had any intention of backing down now, of renouncing what he'd just admitted to her. He adored her. His actions _must_ confirm his words.

Still, he wanted there to be no doubt as to what he was offering her and what she was agreeing to, and paranoia worthy of Mad-Eye niggled at him.

"Yes," Remus said. "I'd like you to come -- though not while I'm transformed, of course."

"Of course not," Tonks repeated, shaking her head for emphasis.

Remus started to let out a sigh of relief, but caught his breath again when Tonks bit her lower lip.

"Only..." Her gaze fell to her fingers, which were fiddling with a loose thread on one of the buttons of his pyjama top. "Just...out of curiosity..." Her dark eyes flicked up to meet his. "Isn't it safe? With the Wolfsbane Potion, I mean? I could stay with you and be okay?"

"Theoretically..."

Remus dragged the word out, then paused, swallowing a hard lump of guilt and indecision that had formed in his throat. Already this matter of openness was proving a challenge. Did he need to tell her that in resigning from Hogwarts, he'd lost access to the perfectly-brewed Wolfsbane Potion Severus Snape had provided him with? Did she need to know that the very Umbridge laws that made him unemployable also kept him at the mercy of unscrupulous apothecaries who arbitrarily raised prices so that some months he could not afford the brew, and at no time could he be assured of its quality, or even that he would not be poisoned? Tonks would be indignant. While her passion stirred him (he couldn't deny what it did to his ego that she had become so enraged by Kreacher's thwarting her attempt to bring him tea) there were some things it just wasn't worth getting het up over. He'd learnt to make do with what Wolfsbane Potion he could acquire. Why should anyone else waste time and energy when there were far more important matters at hand?

Affecting as light a tone as he could, he said, "I hope you will understand, but I am not keen to test it. Even at Hogwarts, when Severus assured me he had brewed the potion perfectly, Dumbledore did not encourage me to prowl the corridors at full moon."

Tonks nodded. "Absolutely."

Remus hoped his sigh would not tip her off about his omission (which he hoped to Merlin was not so significant that it qualified as a _lie _of omission) and, thankfully, she grinned in a way that tugged at his inner Marauder, which lurked ever near the surface, making him forget everything but mischief and how much he enjoyed -- no, _adored _-- spending time with this witch.

"Would've been a damn good way to test the DADA students," she said, "you prowling the corridors at full moon. How d'you tell the difference between a werewolf and a true wolf?"

"If he's on Wolfsbane Potion, he's the one that doesn't eat you?"

Their noses brushed as they laughed, and then one of them -- he wasn't sure which -- initiated another kiss, and his low chuckles and her giggles gave way to _hmms _and sighs and then only the quiet, moist sounds of lips meeting and parting, then to nothing at all as the kiss deepened and lengthened

When they parted, Remus couldn't remember what had come before. If he hadn't had the proof of how Tonks responded to his kisses, he'd have doubted his performance on that score as Tonks somehow had the presence of mind to say, "Just to make sure I'm clear -- you don't mind me seeing you the day of full moon, right up till moonset, and the morning after I can bring you breakfast in bed?"

Remus couldn't resist looking around at the mess of broken dishes and spilt beans and milk and broken, burnt toast and saying, "Only if you promise to let Molly do the cooking."

"Oh you sodding great git!" she cried, and pummelled him playfully.

Laughing, Remus caught her wrists, but managed to say seriously, "Our time is so limited. It's ridiculous to ask you not to come at certain times, which may be the only time we can find for each other for a week or more."

"Indeed," said Tonks. "I mean, not that you're ridiculous."

"I think I have been a bit," said Remus, releasing her wrists but taking hold of her hands. "Talking of which, you've got a pretty busy schedule this week, haven't you?"

She nodded. "And isn't Dumbledore sending you abroad tomorrow?"

"He is, and I am not certain where or for how long. He said maybe a week, but you know what _maybe_ means in Order terms." Remus ran his fingers over her knuckles, and brought one hand to his lips. "I want to take you out tonight."

It wouldn't have taken a Legilimens to know what she was thinking, because her face was an open book for anyone to read. Remus knew she wondered whether he really felt up to going out, whether he could afford it. Her lips, pinched tightly together, revealed how close she was to asking. He couldn't deny that the faint prickle he felt in his face was of self-consciousness, shame even, that these were concerns; more than that, he bristled with indignation for Tonks' sake, that _she _had to be concerned with these deficiencies in her boyfriend, that she was forced to battle within herself over what she could and could not say.

But, he supposed, it was preferable to have someone -- especially someone like her, who he _adored_ -- to care, rather than to be ill and poor alone.

And he really didn't feel particularly ill, just a bit tired, though even that seemed to be lessening with every kiss they shared, and he suspected he might just be more energetic than her if they continued in this vein (and he kissed her again as if to prove it); nor did he feel terribly poor, either, having tightened his belt, cut monthly expenses, so that he could take her out for special occasions, buy her birthday and Christmas and Valentine gifts, should she not come to her senses about him and meet a more suitable man before then. He could afford a modest dinner out with her tonight.

"We've got to eat," he said, "and you told me yourself there's no bread or beans, and you can't cook and I can't very well even if I wished to and...I really want to take you out. For a proper dinner date." He added, as much to reassure her that she needn't feel awkward as because of his own sudden pressing concern that he not disappoint her in the future, "As long as you don't mind me thinking of something else for your birthday."

"Not at all," said Tonks, twining their fingers together. "I was hoping for a quiet birthday picnic with you, anyway."

"Don't you think I can come up with something a little more creative and exciting than a quiet picnic?"

Rolling her eyes, Tonks scrabbled up off Remus' lap, keeping her balance with an iron grip on his shoulder which actually felt therapeutic to his aching shoulder. Perhaps after dinner he could entice her to give him a massage...

"Course I did, but I figured you had a big enough head about your own creativity without me stroking your ego, Mister On-My-First-Date-With-Tonks-I-Bragged-To-Her-About-How-I-Turned-A-Boggart-Into-Snape-In-Drag."

"And you think Nymphadora's an unwieldy name," said Remus, reaching for the handrail and trying not to grunt as he heaved himself to his feet.

"Where are you taking me tonight, then?" she asked, eyed him. "Somewhere where the dress code is pyjamas?"

"No, Auror robes accessorised with baked beans."

Tonks scooped a handful off her front and smeared them on Remus' shoulder. "Just Transfigure those jammies into red robes and you'll be all set."

"Should probably brush my teeth and shave, as well."

Her saucy expression shifted, softening into one that might be called coy...Though Remus wasn't sure, because she was biting her lip in that expression he'd come to recognise as half-shy. She wanted to flirt, but wasn't totally confident...A feeling he frequently related to...He hoped she would say what she was thinking, because she was looking at him the way she had earlier, when he'd thought she might be thinking he was attractive.

She stepped toward him on the landing, closing the gap so that they stood toe-to-toe, and reached up to touch his cheek, rubbing her palm over his stubble just hard enough to produce a slight scratching sound.

"You don't have to shave," she said. "I like you all scrummy and sexy."

"Do you, now?" Remus settled his hands on her hips and pulled her into him, letting his chin brush her temple as he kissed it.

Her _mmm _of confirmation resonated against him as she leaned against his chest, then looked up at him.

"Unless we're going someplace that requires a clean shave with bean-coated PJs?"

"I don't think Rosmerta will throw me out of Three Broomsticks for coming in with a bit of scruff. Is that all right?"

"A bit of scruff? I just said--"

"The Three Broomsticks," Remus interrupted. "Do you mind going there?"

Awaiting her response, he held his breath. Not because he was afraid she had grander expectations than The Three Broomsticks for dinner out with him, but because thus far in their relationship, he had avoided outings in Wizarding locations. She had never come close to intimating that she feared for her reputation by being seen with him -- quite the opposite, in fact, when they'd unexpectedly met Poppy Pomfrey on their first date, picnicking in a Muggle park; but Remus couldn't be sure she'd considered the possibility, either, or even if she suspected that he had intentionally avoided taking her out in the Wizarding community. He wasn't sure what compelled him to make their relationship public now, other than that it simply seemed the thing to do, in light of his new determination to be open with her, to lay all his cards on the table and give this a whole-hearted go.

The smile Tonks gave him before she leaned into him, pressing her curves against his body as she tucked her head beneath his chin, her cheek against his chest, told Remus that she _did_ know exactly what a step he'd taken. He returned her embrace, resting his cheek on the bed of her soft hair, glad he had taken it, and telling himself not to think further than that step, not to let doubt creep in and take hold. There was just as much chance of good coming as of it going pear-shaped. More, even, because Tonks was the most remarkable young woman he could hope to take it with.

It certainly was easy -- ridiculously easy -- to believe the best when she was stretching up on her toes, kissing his scruffy chin, and telling him The Three Broomsticks would be perfect.

Tonks wanted to change out of her bean-covered work clothes, and as Remus needed to dress, as well -- and, indeed, was covered in beans himself -- they agreed to meet back at Grimmauld in a half-hour and Floo to Hogsmeade. Remus sensed she suggested it because she doubted he was up to Apparating to hers and Flooing from there, and he debated making a show of manhood by insisting on in it. He knew, though, that as energised as he felt in her presence, his body really wasn't up to it, and splinching would be far less manly than having his girlfriend meet him, so he nodded and Evanescoed the mess on the stairs so she could descend without further calamity.

In his bedroom, stood before the open wardrobe, Remus suffered a minor crisis of confidence as he felt himself carried back to the day he'd first moved into Grimmauld Place with Sirius and discovered that the entire contents of his suitcase -- every stitch of clothing he owned -- fit in the wardrobe without having to remove any of Regulus' old things. At the time he'd laughed about it, but that was before he'd had a girlfriend to worry about impressing. Now, he thought his meagre collection of patched robes, trousers, shirts, and his couple of tired jumpers looked dowdier and shabbier than ever next to the vivid silks and satins and elaborate brocades.

Sighing, he pictured Tonks similarly posed before her crammed wardrobe, indecisive for the simple reason that she had so many outfits to choose from. She would probably turn up in something new, while Remus would wear the same sad brown jumper with darned elbows and tired grey trousers ensemble she'd seen him wear a million times because they were less shabby than the other garments.

Of course, _she _was the one that had asked whether _he _minded her wearing tatty jeans.

All at once, as Remus squeezed paste onto his toothbrush and looked at his reflection in the small bathroom mirror, he saw her looking at him the way she had earlier, which had made him quite happy to be seen just as he was, fresh out of bed. He grinned moronically as he brushed his teeth and, with the other hand, smoothed his hair vaguely into place instead of bothering with a comb. _Scrummy and sexy_, she'd said. He rubbed his hand over his jaw and remembered the way her smaller, softer, girlish hand felt stroking his stubble, and silently apologised to his razor lying on the edge of the sink that he'd be spending less time with it in the future.

"Don't fool yourself, werewolf," said the mirror as he bent to spit and rinse. "You're shabby, and even if that half-bred, shapeshifting, freakish blight on this noble house does fancy you, you're just plain shabby. There's nothing _chic_ about you."

Grin stretching wider, Remus made a sweeping bow to the mirror, then bounded out of the bathroom.

The instant he set foot in the corridor, the muffled shrieks from Walburga Black's portrait mingled with a volley of bellowed swear words alerted Remus to Tonks' return to Grimmauld Place. He raced down the stairs, exercise his knees thanked him for with exuberant cracks and creaks, and found a blonde Tonks sat on the upturned troll-foot umbrella stand, aiming her wand at the thigh of her black leggings which hugged her slender legs like a second skin.

Or rather, she aimed her wand at a hole in her leggings that revealed a sizable amount of her _actual_ skin. The tip of her tongue poked out the corner of her mouth as she concentrated, but just as she uttered the incantation for the Sewing Spell, her eyes darted sidelong at Remus.

The rip got bigger, exposing the whole of Tonks' thigh.

"Balls," she muttered.

"Allow me," said Remus, drawing his wand as he approached.

With the slightest flick of his wrist and a murmured _Consuo_, the hole in Tonks' legging closed up, good as new.

"Ta," she said in a hushed tone, looking up at him with rounded eyes. She was obviously impressed.

Remus shrugged as he pocketed his wand, and gestured to his own mended clothing. "Lots of experience."

Though she coloured slightly, Tonks cocked her head cheekily. "Maybe you should be a seamstress."

"Wouldn't it be a seam_ster_?"

"I dunno. But you could open a shop. Robes By Remus."

She'd stood as she spoke, and Remus swept her with his gaze from top to bottom. At the top was short, sleek blonde hairstyle, and a very large pair of hot pink hoop earrings that coordinated with her oversized pink and black-striped off-the-shoulder jumper which was cinched at the waist by a black dragonhide belt studded with pink rhinestones. Then, of course, came the leggings, which barely showed between the jumper and the tops of her knee-high pinky-purple boots. To his mild indignation, he noted that the boots had four-inch heels, which would barely give him an inch on her, and which he felt a grudge against as he was fairly certain they hadn't helped her not to trip over the troll-foot, though to be fair she probably would have done anyway, and the extra height _did _make her legs look miles long, and there was no way in hell anyone was going to hear _him _complain about that.

"I think my interest in fashion extends no further than your clothing."

Tonks flung out one hip and wobbled a little, but Remus steadied her with a hand on her hip.

"You like?" she asked, peering at him through long black lashes.

"Very much." He couldn't resist touching her hair, to see if it felt as soft as its sheen in the lamplight made it look."Decided not to do anything daft tonight?"

"Just thought if we're going to the Three Broomsticks where you'll see people you know and possibly taught with -- or _taught_ -- then I ought to look like the sort of witch people'd expect to see going out with a respectable bloke like you."

"I don't think most people think of me as respectable or expect to see me with anyone."

Though he'd said it lightly, and without resentment -- he _thought_, anyway, a crease formed between Tonks' eyebrows, and her eyes clouded, as though with pain.

Hastily, Remus added, "Tonight they'll think I'm the luckiest wizard in Britain to have you for my date. No matter what colour your hair is."

"Not bloody Dolores Umbridge with her stupid Ministry employee dress code."

"All the more reason to wear daft colours when you're off-duty," said Remus. "On the off-chance we run into her in Three Broomstick's, you'll be able to annoy her."

As Tonks' features relaxed, she slid her hands up over his chest, her dark eyes glinting merrily at him. "Does that mean there's a colour that would make you the luckiest wizard in the _whole_ world?"

Chuckling at his misstep and the sly way she'd pointed it out -- _and _managed to ask what must have been a burning question, what did he think of her hair, Remus slid his fingers into her soft hair and said, "I must confess -- I'm quite partial to pink."

Her face scrunched again, though this time it resulted in the roots of her hair, like spring blossoms, bursting into pink. As the vivid colour surged to the tips, the strands, so striking against his pale fingers woven through them, stood up in her usual jaunty spikes.

"In fact," said Remus, leaning into her, rubbing his cheek against hers to speak in her ear, "I Nymph-_adore_ pink."

He pulled back to register her jaw hitting the floor, then, just as fire flickered in her eyes, turned on his heel and bolted for the drawing room. Laughing, he threw up a Shield Charm behind him as Tonks threatened to hex him to next week, and he thought that being subjected to such threats by adorable pink-haired witches really did make him the luckiest wizard in the world.

_The End_

* * *

_**A/N: Those kind enough to review will get their choice of Remus to share a meal with: respectable Professor Lupin, who wears a neat suit and tie and takes you to the sort of restaurant where you've got to know which fork to use; casual Remus, who doesn't shave and wears a comfy jumper and trousers and takes you to a pub; or sleepy Remus, who stays in pajamas for breakfast in bed...**_


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